From All of Us, Welcome!

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Above, from left to right:
Walt Batycki, Animal Care
April Harrison, Farm Manager
Lorraine Roscino, Animal Care
Karen Lockrow, Volunteer
Me and my pal Paulie the Rooster
Volunteer Jane Sarcona
Alex Spaey, Farm Maintenance
Foreground: An uncharacteristically stoic Murphy, Director of Canine Pursuits

If you love animals,

If you want to know them more deeply,

If you want to feel part of a community where distinctions between “human” and “animals” are meaningless,

If you want inspiration for giving up meat,

Then I hope this blog will feel like home.

I founded Catskill Animal Sanctuary in 2001. Where the Blind Horse Sings, available online (blindhorsesings.com, barnesandnoble.com, amazon.com) and in most bookstores, tell much of the story. Suffice it to say in this brief introduction that we have saved over 1,200 abused, abandoned, or discarded animals--horses, cows, donkeys, sheep, pigs, goats, chickens, ducks, turkeys, and rabbits. We've taken in large numbers from hoarders, and animals from "animals rescues" closed by police for cruelty. We've taken in a pony shot in the head, another one who was set on fire, a chicken stuffed in a mailbox, a dozen rabbits found in a dumpster. Many of our cows, horses, goats, and sheep were discovered locked in barns in the dead of winter without any food or water whatsoever. Nearly all our potbellied pigs were abandoned by their humans. Our current residents include Helen the blind calf, Blake the one-footed duck, and Rambo, the greatest sheep who's ever lived. Yes, it's a cast of characters! But how resilient they are, and how forgiving. We hope, among other things, that you'll visit our special sanctuary, where healed and happy animals have a lot to teach us.

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Above: Helen, the blind calf.

We love what we do. We believe in this work. To the credit of many special human beings and many special animals, CAS is a magical place. I invite you to see for yourself. I invite you to learn from these animals who, allowed to thrive, become so much more than one could believe possible.

From all of us at Catskill Animal Sanctuary, welcome.

has arrived from Manhattan, and I must go to the barn for his 9 pm bottle. He is no more than eight pounds; no more than four weeks old. He is so sick that we must suit up in latex gloves, facial mask and full quarantine suit for each feeding. Despite the mucous that clogs his throat and pours from his nostrils and crusts his eyes, he is eagerness and enthusiasm and love. And his gusto might just pull him through. For now, here's board member Jean Rhode's piece on another goat from Manhattan--a character named Mufasa.

You Have to Meet Mufasa
by Jean Rhode

And when you meet him, you have to admire him. Or, you don’t have to, you just will. For one thing, he’s a very handsome long-horned goat.

The first time I met Mufasa was toward the end of a long day. I went up with Alex to clean out the sheep barn and there he was. He remained off to the side while we cleaned out the old bedding—maintenance is not his job in life. But when Alex took the manure spreader to the field, there I was face to face with him and his full attention. He ran over to some sheep and head-butted them on the rear end, chasing them across the field. They looked annoyed and like this happens about a zillion times a day.

Then he turned to me. He was a ways off and he started backing up—getting a running start, it looked like. Which was true. He started full-out running straight for me. I had a few thoughts: why do I know so little about goats, will I be gored, should I run, how could I get in a pen with a goat when I know so little about goats? He ran straight to me, stopped short and to my surprise, put his fore-head gently against my leg. I scratched his ears and petted him then he ran off and did it all again. The third time as he was running back to his self-imposed starting line, I shouted, go Mufasa, faster! He leapt into the air twisting mid-air with glee. He head-butted a sheep for good measure, then ran past me as if to say, “I’m a goat! Look what I can do! Woohoo!”

He did his running and jumping and putting his head against my leg routine several more times. When I had to leave, I thanked him for the entertainment.

The next time I saw Mufasa, he’d been moved to the barn to let him meet more people...something he clearly loved to do. He was in his own stall in the morning, but in the afternoon, he came out to wander the barn. He got into mock battles with Rambo, each backing up and then running into each other in full frontal attack. Rambo got bored and tried to walk away, but Mufasa chased him, game for more—especially if a human was watching.
Mufasa would inspect the stalls we were cleaning and interrupt for head scratches, putting his long-horned head gently against your leg. He’d run out-side the barn then back again. He’d jump on anything: hay, rocks, over-turned water troughs, like “Look at me, I’m up here, now I’m down here, now I’m up here again! What’s fun, what’s trouble, who can I head butt, what can I play with, where is there food, how can I get it, where’s Rambo, who will scratch my ears, who will watch me, what can I do right this second that’s fun?!!!” A million goat thoughts from a little goat who was found wandering in the meat-packing district of Manhattan.

Whatever opportunity for joy presents itself to him, Mufasa takes it. If you want to see living in the moment, meet Mufasa. And like any good audience member getting ready to see a great performer (who’s something of a ham) be prepared to applaud, to laugh, to watch, to admire and to learn. And to have a goat head with long horns butt up gently to your leg.

Well, he’s here. We—well, actually I—wanted a rooster friend...and man does Manny love to remind me of my wish at 4:30 every single morning!

“Cock-a-doooooo-dooo!” he crows from the top of my armoire, his preferred sleeping spot. “Cock-a-DOOOOO-dooo!” he greets the day.

Manny is not a patient bird. I can’t figure out what, other than company, he wants when, if I don’t get up within a minute or two of his first crow, he swoops down onto the bed, struts around Murphy, my long-suffering yellow lab, walks up to my face and STARES. It’s not food that he wants. His food is accessible—dried fruit on one tabletop, seeds on another—as is his water. I honestly think he simply wants us all to get up and begin the day together.

We were told by Aimee Hartmann of the ASPCA that Manny had been hanging around on a fence in the Bronx for a while before a brave soul worked up her nerve to capture him. She needn’t have worried; Manny is a sweetheart...with humans. He went to a home in Pennsylvania, but there were issues between Manny and the woman’s goose. So after spending a night in the Park Slope apartment of Jean Rhode, Manny made the trip out of Brooklyn, up the West Side Highway and the New York State Thruway to Catskill Animal Sanctuary.

He’s not a big guy, but don’t tell him that. As gentle as he is with humans, Manny has spent his first four days in my house trying to establish himself as head honcho among my animals. Initially fearful of Murphy and my two cats, Fat Boy and Mouse, he soon perceived that none of them were a threat. So fear became caution, caution became confidence, and yesterday when I walked in from the barn Manny was chasing poor Fat Boy through the living room!

“No, Manny! Bad bird!” I scolded, scooping him up and putting the rooster into his first Time Out.

That’s right. Manny got a Time Out. Why are you laughing? Jokes about chicken soup have no effect--the bird knows I'm vegan. Time Out just might work. He’s a smart bird—he’s a very smart bird—who will connect the dots quickly. Whether he’ll be able to control his behavior remains to be seen.

Ten minutes ago, Manny got his second Time Out after he decided to have sex with Murphy’s head. I was sitting on the sofa, reading a piece in the New York Times about foie gras production. Murphy was asleep on his bed right next to the sofa, and Manny had settled down next to him (bless my tolerant good good dog’s heart). Suddenly, no hens in sight, Manny was instead having sex with Murphy’s head.

Time Out Number Two.

Man, oh Manny.